“At least make a few connections on the...
“At
least make a few connections on the Street?”
“Dad, they were all jealous of me, you know thatMy looks, the girls—I look like you, Dad—
they all conspired against meSometimes I think they were really getting at you through me! You
know how they talkSenior and Junior, dashing socialites and all that crapRemember the
column in the Daily News when they compared us to the Fairbankses?”
“I’ve known Doug for forty years!” yelled the father“He’s got it upstairs, one of the best
“He didn’t go to Andover and Yale, Dad
“He didn’t have to, for Christ’s sake! ? What the hell was that
degree you got at Yale?”
“Bachelor of Arts
“Screw that! There was something elseThe courses or something
“I majored in English literature and minored in political science
“That’s it! Shove the fairy stuff on the back burnerYou were outstanding in the other one—the
political science bullshit
“Dad, it wasn’t my strongest course
“You passed?”
“Yes
“Not barely, with honors! That’s it!”
And so Phillip Atkinson III began his career in the Foreign Service by way of a valuable
political contributor who was his father, and never looked backAnd although that illustrious man
had died eight years ago, he never forgot the old war horse’s last admonition: “Don’t fuck this up,
sonYou want to drink or you want balenciaga whistle bag to whore around, you do it inside your own house or in a
goddamned desert somewhere, understand? And you treat that wife of yours, whatever the hell her
name is, with real affection wherever anybody can see you, got it?”
“Yes, Dad
Which was why Phillip Atkinson felt so blah on this particular morningHe had spent the
previous evening at a dinner party with unimportant royals who drank until the drink flowed out of
their nostrils, and with his wife who excused their behavior because they were royals, all of which
he could tolerate only with seven glasses of ChablisThere were times when he longed for the
freewheeling, free-drinking days of the old Saigon
The telephone rang, causing Atkinson to blur his signature on a document that made no sense to
him“Yes?”
“The high commissioner from the Hungarian Central Committee is on the line, sir
“Oh? Who’s that—who are they? Do we recognize them—it—him?”
“I don’t know, MrI really can’t pronounce his name
“Very well, put him throughAmbassador?” said the deep accented voice on the phoneAtkinson?”
“Yes, this is AtkinsonForgive me, but I don’t recollect either your name or the Hungarian
affiliation you speak for
“It does not matterI speak on behalf of Snake Lady—”
“Stop!” cried the ambassador to the Court of St“Stay on the line and we’ll cartier pasha watch resume
talking in twenty seconds Atkinson reached down, snapped on his scrambler, and waited until the
spiraling sounds of the pre-interceptor subsided
Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM
237
“I have received instructions from Snake Lady and was told to confirm the origin from you
“Confirmed!”
“And therefore I am to carry out these instructions?”
“Good Lord, yes! Whatever they sayMy God, look what happened to Teagarten in Brussels,
Armbruster in Washington! Protect me! Do whatever they say!”
“Thank you, Mr
Bourne first sat in the hottest tub he could endure, then took the coldest shower he could
tolerateHe then changed the dressing around his neck, walked back into the small hotel room and
fell on the bedSo Marie had found a simple, ingenious way to reach ParisGoddamn it! How
could he find her, protect her? Had she any idea what she was doing? David would go out of his
mindHe’d panic and make a thousand mistakesOh, my God, I am David!
Stop it
The telephone rang; he grabbed it off the bedside table“Yes?”
“Santos wants to see youWith peace in his heart
Robert Ludlum ?? THE BOURNE ULTIMATUM
238
24
The Emergency Medical Service helicopter was lowered into its threshold; the rotors were cut and
the blades thumped to a stopFollowing EMS procedure when disembarking ambulatory omega constellation lady watch patients,
only then did the exit door open and the metal steps slap down to the groundA uniformed
paramedic preceded Panov, turning and assisting the doctor to the tarmac, where a second man in
civilian clothes escorted him to a waiting limousineInside were Peter Holland, director of the CIA,
and Alex Conklin, the latter in the right jump seat, obviously for conversational purposesThe
psychiatrist climbed in beside Holland; he took several deep breaths, sighed audibly and fell back
into the seat
“I am a maniac,” he stated, emphasizing each word“Certifiably insane and I’ll sign the papers
of commitment myself
“You’re safe, that’s all that matters, Doctor,” said Holland“Good to see you, Crazy Mo,” added
Conklin
“Have you any idea what I did? I purposely crashed a car into a tree with me in it! Then after
walking at least half the distance to the Bronx, I was picked up by the only person I know who may
have more loose bananas in her head than I doHer libido is unhinged and she’s running away from
her trucker husband—hot on her French heels—who I subsequently learned has the cuddly name of
the BronkMy hooker chauffeur proceeds to hold me hostage with such wiles as threatening to yell
‘Rape!’ in a diner filled with a collection of the NFL’s most carnivorous linebackers—except quilted chanel purse for
one who got me out Panov abruptly stopped and reached into his pocket“Here,” he continued,
thrusting the five driver’s licenses and the roughly six thousand dollars into Conklin’s hands
“What’s this?” asked the bewildered Alex
“I robbed a bank and decided to become a professional driver! What do you think it is? I took
it from the man who was guarding meI described as best I could to the chopper’s crew where the
crash took placeThey’re flying back to find himThey will; he’s not walking anywhere
Peter Holland reached for the limousine’s telephone, pushing three buttonsIn less than two
seconds, he spoke“Get word to EMS-Arlington, Equipment Fifty-sevenThe man they’re picking
up is to be brought directly to LangleyAnd keep me informed as to their
progress
“Go on? What’s to go on to? I was kidnapped and held in some farmhouse and injected with
enough sodium pentothal, if I’m not mistaken, to make me a resident of—of La La Land, which I
was recently accused of being by Madame Scylla Charybdis
“What the hell are you talking about?” said Holland flatly“Nothing, Admiral, or MrDirector
or—”
“Peter’s fine, Mo,” completed Holland“I simply didn’t understand you
“There’s nothing to understand but the factsMy allusions are compulsive attempts at false
eruditionIt’s called posttraumatic gucci leather wallets st